


wishing and hoping

by dottie_wan_kenobi



Series: Harry Potter (series) Fics [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bickering, Established Relationship, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marriage Proposal, Misunderstandings, POV Remus Lupin, Post-Hogwarts, Pre-Relationship, Time Skips, its some kind of au where there was no war or maybe they survived it idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25297963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dottie_wan_kenobi/pseuds/dottie_wan_kenobi
Summary: “Remus, I know this will sound mad, but…. Will you marry me?”“We’re fourteen,” Remus says without thinking. Then—”What?”“Will you marry me?” Sirius repeats, peeking over through his fringe.----Remus, Sirius, and two marriage proposals.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: Harry Potter (series) Fics [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799116
Comments: 10
Kudos: 152





	wishing and hoping

**Author's Note:**

> I thought this was gonna be short like the other fics in this series but NOPE lmao  
> anyway many thanks to Rachel for helping me get this thing to a good stopping place, and to Mia for helping me make sure it makes sense!!
> 
> not britpicked I'm so sorry :(( I tried to sound British at least

They’re fourteen, and it’s summer, the end of the semester hanging as thick in the air as the humidity. Late afternoon has found Remus hiding in the shade under a tree, his back against the cushion-spelled bark, his legs splayed out in front of him. He feels dreadfully overheated (even with his sleeves and trousers rolled up some, his socks and shoes kicked off beside him) and sick to his stomach in a grieving sort of way, and he can’t stop looking at Sirius. He’s laying next to Remus, similarly barefooted, his cuffs rolled up as far as they’ll go, the top buttons of his shirt loose. His hair isn’t long enough to be put up, yet, but it lays about his head in perfect waves. Arms tucked behind his head, he stretches like a cat and makes a sound like he’s never been so content.

Remus looks away, his cheeks surely red, but there’s nothing nearly as interesting to turn his attention to—James and Peter and some others playing Exploding Snap, Marlene skipping stones as she chats up a girl, Lily and Mary talking to younger Gryffindor girls—so he turns back to Sirius.

Their eyes meet. Sirius has that air about him, like he’s got his mind set on something and won’t let go of it for anything. It makes Remus nervous—the last time he’d seen that look, Sirius had found out that Remus thinks he might be bent. Just a little. And Sirius had said, eyes bright and searching, “I think I might be too. Just a little.”

They’d agreed not to tell anyone else yet, struck by the opportunity to have a companion, someone to keep a secret with, and by the fear that their friends won’t understand. But they haven’t spoken about it together yet, either, and part of that is Remus’ fault. Sirius has tried, when lights went out at night and it was only the two of them awake in their room and Remus pretended to sleep. 

He knows they need to talk about it before they have to leave for the summer. It won’t do to go all that time, questions building up and no answers or any way to get them. But thinking about it this way leaves a lump in his throat, his fingers pulling at the strings of his shirts. While he’s never quite minded getting to go home before, he does this time, and he isn’t sure why. Or, well, he has some idea but he doesn’t want to think about the possible reasons for it.

Sirius breathes out, looking up at the clouds, releasing Remus from his clutches. He asks, “Do you ever think about the future?”

“You know I do.”

“Well, humor me, would you?”

Remus shrugs, even though Sirius isn’t looking at him, and picks at his fingers. He has a hangnail, and he stares at it as he says, “I’ll have to get registered once I get out of here. Probably work in the Muggle world, since no one will want to hire a…well, me. They won’t want to hire me.” He can already imagine the kinds of jobs that’ll be available to him—important work, he knows that, but not what he wants. “What about you?”

“I’ll go where James goes, I suppose.”

“What about work?”

“What about it?”

“What do you think you’ll do?”

Sirius pulls an arm out from under his head just to wave his hand in the air dismissively. “Haven’t a clue. Probably nothing. I don’t want to work, anyway. Do you think I could pull off being a house-husband?”

Remus sighs, gazing up through the branches of the tree.

For a few moments, they’re silent, and it’s comfortable even if he’s wishing for patience. But then Sirius breaks it, because he hates silence and never lets it last as long as Remus would like him to. “If you could have any job in the whole world, what would you be?”

“I can’t—”

“Guaranteed you’d get it,” Sirius adds, turning to peek at him. 

Remus gives in, knowing it’ll be easier to just go along with wherever Sirius is trying to take him. “A teacher, I suppose.”

“Here at Hogwarts? Or in the Muggle world?”

“Well, I don’t exactly know what Muggles study, now do I?”

“So here, then.” Fluidly, Sirius sits up and turns to face him, his legs crossed. “Would you want to live in Hogsmeade, or somewhere else?”

He shrugs again. “I don’t know, wherever they’d take me would be enough.” 

“But if you were allowed  _ anywhere _ ,” he stresses.

He knows Sirius isn’t trying to be mean, but he can’t help his sharp tone when he replies, “If I was  _ allowed  _ anywhere?”

Sirius’ eyes widen as he realizes what he said, his mouth turning down apologetically. “I meant—I just mean, imagine you could go anywhere in the whole world! Price doesn’t matter, and neither does the fact that you’re a—you. Where?”

“Why are you being so pushy?” Remus demands, feeling like the butt of some joke he doesn’t understand at all. “Why do you care where I’d want to live?” 

He scowls now, crossing his arms. “I’m just curious! Why won’t you tell me?”

“I don’t see why you should care if you’re just going to go and live with James anyway.”

“Well maybe I’ll go live with you! And I want to know where we might hypothetically live, is that so wrong? Just tell me!”

Remus throws a hand over his eyes, trying to calm down—the dark, conveniently free of Sirius, helps somewhat. Without pulling it away, he answers, “I don’t know, okay! I’ll be lucky if I don’t end up homeless or in with the—the you-know-whats. I’ve never thought about it before.”

Well, he has. But it hurts enough to get his own hopes up, nevermind sharing such private thoughts with Sirius. Maybe if they were hidden in one of their beds, a silencing charm up,  _ lumos  _ lighting them up enough to see, enough for Sirius to pretend Remus didn’t have tears in his eyes. But no—they’re sitting on the lawn under a tree, and their friends are all around. This privacy they have is fragile, and will be easily broken whenever James decides he’s bored and wants Sirius’ attention. He can’t admit to what he wants for himself here, or that he’s actually thought quite extensively about his future—a teaching job at Hogwarts, where his class will be fun and whimsical while still educational; a cozy house with a room for the moons that he’ll try to occupy on other days, a big bed to snuggle down into, someone by his side. He really is only a little bent—he wouldn’t mind a wife, he thinks, remembering flashes of imagined curves, a closet with his things on one side and beautiful dresses on the other. But usually when he imagines this home, he thinks of Sirius beside him. In bed, and in the kitchen, or taking a bath while Remus brushes his teeth.

He can’t possibly tell him any of this. He’s humiliated enough.

Sirius reaches out to rest a hand on his knee, breaking into his thoughts. When he speaks, his voice isn’t gentle like James’ would be or afraid of saying the wrong thing like Peter’s would. There’s a kind of unshakable confidence that only he has when he says, “That will  _ never  _ happen. I mean it, Remus. You’ll always have a place with me.”

“I—I—” He doesn’t know how to say  _ thank you _ , or  _ I won’t be your charity case _ , or anything at all.

“It’s not charity,” Sirius says, rolling his eyes. “I know that’s what you’re thinking but it’s not! You’re one of my best friends, and I’ve heard what the you-know-whats are like, and I know you wouldn’t be happy there. And I want you to be happy. So does Hogsmeade sound okay or would you prefer somewhere else? Ottery St Catchpole? Godric’s Hollow? I suppose we could live in one of the Muggle cities….”

“Those sound alright.” He shifts uncomfortably, and though it wasn’t his intention, Sirius takes his hand away.

He starts to muse aloud about the advantages and downfalls of the various towns, occasionally glancing at Remus like he expects him to be taking notes or something. A few minutes, he trails off, contemplative. “If you don’t like those options—”

“No, no, I do, they’re fine—”

“—we could always live in Paris, you know. Or Rome. Or we could go back to Wales?” He offers. “If you want.”

“What about what  _ you  _ want?” As soon as he says it, he regrets it—this whole conversation has left him wrong-footed and he’d meant to ask why on earth Sirius is acting so weird, not bring attention to the fact that this is all very one-sided. “No, wait, I meant—why are you—what are you—I don’t understand what’s going on right now,” he finally settles on. “You’re going to live with James, and the only way you and I will ever be together— _ live together _ , I mean—is if things get so bad for me I have no other choice. So—so why are you—”

“You know,” Sirius interrupts, a casual air about him that Remus knows is an act. He looks at Remus head-on, but he’s nervous—it’s obvious by how he’s ripping blades of grass out of the ground, one by one, twirling them around his fingers as he pulls. “We could just skip that step all together. Just follow James wherever he goes, be his next door neighbors. Peter can be on the other side.”

“Sirius, that’s—”  _ ridiculous _ , he’s going to say,  _ utterly bonkers _ , but Sirius talks over him.

“As long as we’re together, I don’t care where we live really. Just not London. That’s the last place I want to go.” He looks away then, to the grass. “Remus, I know this will sound mad, but…. Will you marry me?”

“We’re fourteen,” Remus says without thinking. Then—”What?”

“Will you marry me?” Sirius repeats, peeking over through his fringe.

“Are you—Sirius, don’t joke.” He can feel his whole face warming at the thought, though with humiliation or anger, he doesn’t know. He’d thought this would be something Sirius could be, well, serious about, that he’d understand. Remus can take all kinds of ribbing and hazing, but he cannot take this.

“I’m not joking!” Sirius is much too loud, his eyes widening again. “Remus, what we talked about—I thought—I mean, we get along and if we’re both  _ you-know _ , then why not—”

“We’re fourteen,” Remus repeats. His heart is pounding at top speeds, and he feels like he’s just run a marathon, his whole body tight with shock and all kinds of other emotions he doesn’t want to think about. “And there are others like us out there, you know, and maybe you’ll find one who you could actually love if you just take the time to find them—”

Sirius makes a strangled noise. “I  _ could _ , I absolutely could love y—”

Remus waves his hand agitatedly. “It doesn’t matter! You’re nutters.”

“So you don’t want to marry me?” It’s a demand, his eyes hard and piercing. But Remus can tell he’s hurt—his hands are in fists now, trembling against the ground.

“I—” He thinks about those fantasies. Thinks about Sirius with a ring, or sitting at a table with his bedhead and a copy of the Daily Prophet while Remus makes them tea. Not having to sneak into Remus’ bed because it’s his bed too. Mornings after full moons, Sirius hovering over him and trying to distract him from the pain. Kissing and holding each other the way Remus has seen his two aunts do. Meekly, he answers, “I didn’t say that.”

“Then—”

“Oi!” James calls, bounding over with Peter a few steps behind. “What are you two bickering about now?”

“Nothing,” Sirius says at the same time Remus says, “It doesn’t matter.”

James and Peter pretend to back off, their hands up, vowing they won’t ask again. It makes Sirius smile, but Remus scowls, not ready to be eased into calming down. James nudges him with his foot, and Remus makes a grab for his ankle, trying and failing to trip him.

Laughing, he bounces away, and Peter shuffles closer to Sirius, obviously not wanting to face his wrath either.

“Come on,” James says, pulling Sirius to his feet but speaking to them both. “We need two more for a match of football.”

“Ask Marlene,” Remus snaps, sinking back into the tree. If any of them try to drag him along, he has no compunctions about fighting, none at all.

“What’s going on with you?” Peter demands after a few moments of quiet. 

“Just leave him alone,” Sirius replies, grabbing his shoes. “Remus, watch my stuff, will you?”

He grumbles an affirmative, and they leave. Their voices carry long enough for him to hear the other two questioning Sirius, and it does nothing but make his temper raise even higher.

Furious tears well in his eyes, and he slams them shut.  He doesn’t know if Sirius was mocking him or not, if he honestly thinks that just because they’re both a little queer, that means they should get together. He doesn’t know which one is worse. It doesn’t help that Sirius seems to have all these plans for them, an expensive and lavish life that Remus will never be able to afford, even if they split the costs.

It takes until the game is over for him to feel like he might be able to look at Sirius without his head exploding in anger and embarrassment. When the others come back, Sirius slips his bag over his shoulder without looking at him. “Thanks,” he says, and is off before Remus can decide what to say back.

“You know,” James sings, “He told us all about it. So if you wanna talk about what happened, we’re here for you, okay?”

Peter nods along, and it would be convincing if Remus weren’t absolutely sure that Sirius would never out them both this way.

“Piss off,” Remus says, and asks about the match before either can try and keep the subject going.

They don’t mention it again the whole rest of the semester, and Remus spends the summer fretting terribly about it, waking from dreams that leave him reaching out across his mattress for someone who isn’t there. And when they come back in the fall, Sirius manic with his returned freedom, they don’t mention it then either. But there are nights when Sirius slips into his bed and they talk about how they’re both just a little bent, feeling less alone with each conversation, and slowly the tension eases from Remus’ shoulders.

* * *

They’re twenty-seven, and it’s winter, apprehension hovering around Remus as much as their breaths do outside. Early morning has found them laying in their bed, tucked under the light covers and sharing body heat as the weak sunlight filters in. He feels warm (a good, comfortable kind that goes deeper than the skin) and nervous though he thinks he probably shouldn’t, and he can’t stop looking at Sirius. He’s laying next to Remus, dozing off with one hand resting under his head, the other holding the small of Remus’ back. Strands of his hair have come out of the bun he put it in before bed last night. As Remus watches, he stretches out his legs, cold air seeping in from where the blankets get displaced by the movement.

He doesn’t think he ever wants to look away.

Looping his arm around Sirius, he shifts them so he’s on his back, Sirius laying on his chest. It’s enough for him to open his eyes, soft but probing too.

“C’mon, wake up,” Remus says, quiet, not wanting to breach the atmosphere.

Sirius groans and ducks his head, forehead pressing to Remus’ collarbone. “Too early,” he complains.

He can’t help but smile, amused. They woke up for the first time an hour before, and it certainly wasn’t because Remus wanted to. He’d gotten with the program eventually, of course, but at first? All Sirius. “There’s something I want to talk about.”

“Something bad?” Sirius checks, peeking up.

“Well, I don’t think it is.”

“Will I?”

Damn, he hopes not. But he plays along, making a contemplative face. “Depends. Are we gonna talk about it, or are you gonna sleep again?”

“Maybe I will,” Sirius grumbles, not really all that upset. He sits up a little, and Remus’ hands find his hips without thinking, stroking his thumb up and down Sirius’ bare skin. “What is it, then?”

“Do you ever think about the future?”

Sirius stares down at him, some realization sparking in his eyes. “If you’re asking about my inheritance—”

“I’m not, I’m not,” Remus says, petting Sirius’ flanks like he does Padfoot’s, hoping to calm him down some. It won’t do to have him all ready to argue if Remus is going to take them where he’s trying to go. “I meant, do you ever think about what we’re doing here?”

“We live here,” Sirius says blandly.

“Well, yes—”

“And this is our bed, so clearly we’re laying in it. When we get up, we’ll visit the loo and then go have a late breakfast and maybe I’ll take another stab at getting the telly and the magic to work. We’ll have lunch and I’ll pester you about getting a dog again and you’ll say, ‘No, Sirius, we already have one and that’s you’. Then maybe I’ll take you in the den, and we can lay on the floor for a while complaining about the cold. Supper will be something delicious, no doubt because I’ll make it, and then when we’re done eating, we can take a bath together.”

“I meant more generally,” Remus cuts in. “Though that all sounds lovely.”

Sirius smirks, but it’s fleeting. “Generally? I think we’re making a life together, Moony. Why, what do  _ you  _ think we’re doing here?”

“The same thing as you,” he reassures, and means it with everything in him. Life with Sirius is amazing, and it has been since they got together five years before, and he hopes—embarrassingly and achingly hopes—that he’ll get to have it for the rest of his days. “But maybe it’s time for a change?”

They’re quiet for a long moment, their eyes locked. Remus can practically hear Sirius’ mind whirring, something in his gaze flickering. He can probably see right through Remus, can see where this is going, is trying to figure out how to say that he likes them the way they are and doesn’t want any more, doesn’t want a more formal attachment than their names together on a lease.

Finally, Sirius sits up fully, pushing the flyaways out of his face. When he speaks, his voice is tight, straight-forward. “Are you trying to break up with me?”

It takes a moment for his words to get through to Remus, the very idea feeling foreign and wrong, and then he splutters, “What?”

“Are you trying to break up with me,” Sirius repeats. “Because if you are I’m going to be really, really upset. I’m not letting you go without a fight, okay, I thought we agreed that if we were having issues we’d fucking talk about them instead of just—”

“Sirius,” Remus calls, feeling frantic.

“—just letting it all build up and explode in our faces so it’s too late to save anything,” he blazes on. “You said that yourself, and now you’re not even going to—? What was it? What did I do? We’re gonna talk about it, we’re gonna sit down and go over everything, we’ll—I’ll compromise if I have to, and if you still feel like it’s—this is— _ we’re _ —if we can’t overcome it, then—then fine, I’ll—”

“Sirius!”

“—I’ll go, okay, you can have the cottage, I would never kick you out, I hope you know that—”

For a second, he’s thrown back to the first time they talked about this, and all the other times Sirius was weirdly adamant about Remus having some place to live. It makes him feel weirdly light-headed—that he would worry so much about it in the first place, that even now as he thinks he’s being broken up with, he’s still looking out for Remus. They’ve been together for years, friends for almost two decades, and it’s far from the first time Sirius has been considerate of him. But it feels so big this time, and he isn’t sure why.

“Sirius, for Godric’s sake, will you listen to me?”

Finally, finally he stops, but he pulls away, too, lifting himself off Remus’ lap and landing beside his legs. There’s a distance there, and by the way Sirius is scrutinizing him, he can easily see tears in his eyes, and it makes Remus feel like his insides have been scooped out. 

This isn’t what he wanted, not what he expected to happen at all. For years, ever since they were fourteen, he’s been dreaming of this moment, all the different ways he could ask or be asked. He knows Sirius occasionally has a hard time taking the lead in their relationship, and from what James had said, this is one of those areas, so Remus had decided he’d do it. A comfortable place, like their bed, alone so there’s no pressure, broaching it the same way Sirius had thirteen years before because it had seemed like a good way to remind him they’ve been here before.

Clearly he’s screwed up somewhere, though, and has to backtrack quickly before things really go to shit.

“Padfoot,” he says as calmly as he can, speaking around his heart in his throat. “I’m not trying to break up with you. You didn’t do anything wrong, there’s nothing—that’s not—I mean, we’re okay. Fully, totally okay, alright? If I did have an issue, I would bring it to you like we agreed.”

“Then I don’t understand,” Sirius says, his words glancing past in the face of Sirius’ hurt and confusion. “Why do you want things to change? If we’re so okay, then we don’t need it.”

“We are okay,” Remus says, more of a snap than he wants it to be. It’s not Sirius’ fault he’s misunderstanding what’s going on here. Apologetically, he reaches out for Sirius’ hand, and he lets him take it, pressing his thumb to Remus’ wrist. “I’m—I’ve right mucked this up.”

Sirius makes a noise, not quite a scoff or an agreement. Just an acknowledgment.

“What I meant by all this was, do you ever think about our future? And would you ever want to…”

“Want to what?” Sirius coaxes when Remus has taken too long. He still sounds upset, but he’s listening, and that’s enough for now.

Remus meets his eyes, and a bolt of fear overwhelms him for a second. He and Sirius haven’t talked about taking this next step, not really. For all that they’ve joked about certain things—being Harry’s gay uncles, getting a dog to raise as their own baby, being old men still bickering about the laundry—they’ve never quite sat down and just said it, that they want to marry each other. Remus hasn’t admitted it to Sirius since he was fourteen. It’s been too long—and now he’s thinking he really should’ve brought it up before now, to gauge where Sirius is at with this. Too late now, he supposes.

“Want to marry me,” he says, then clears his throat, and asks, louder, trying to sound confident, “Will you marry me, Sirius?” 

Sirius blinks, some of the hurt falling away to make room for surprise. “What?”

“Will you marry me?”

“Don’t joke, Moony,” he says, a waver to his voice. He pulls his hand away, his mouth turning down. “If you’re joking right now….”

“I’m not, I’m not joking. Let’s get married.”

“We’ve never—we can’t— _ Remus _ .”

He reaches out and cups Sirius’ shoulders, and Sirius leans in, nearly collapsing into his lap. It was a mistake, he realizes, to go about it this way. “Look, if you don’t want to, you can say no. I know…I know I didn’t really go about this the right way, I should’ve asked you about it before I just sprung it on you. So if you want to say no, I won’t mind.”

“You won’t mind?” Sirius chokes. “Are you—did you just ask me to marry you and now you’re saying you don’t want to?”

He groans, thoroughly irritated with himself for having so much trouble communicating this. “No! I want to get married to you, I’ve wanted to since—well, for a very long time, okay, all I’m saying is that if you want to wait or don’t want to at all, that’s fine. We can keep doing what we’ve been doing, I won’t be upset. I’ll be a little upset,” he corrects, already planning ahead for a miserable night of mourning the chance to call Sirius his husband. “But I’ll get over it.”

Sirius breathes in deeply, and out just as loudly. “Give me a second,” he says, and doesn’t wait for a response before he shuts his eyes and lays his head in the crook of Remus’ neck. Immediately, prickling anxiety fills him, but he figures letting Sirius gather his thoughts is the least he can do, and opts for rubbing long circles on his back.

They’ve found themselves in this position many times before, sometimes like this and sometimes flipped. He’s come to the sound conclusion that there’s no better place to be than in Sirius’ arms, or holding him, nowhere safer or more comforting. Even now, as emotions pile up—fear and guilt and embarrassment and so, so much love—he feels…okay. It’s easy to reassure himself, because he knows even if Sirius says no, they’ll talk about it and they’ll be fine.

“I’m ready to talk,” Sirius says, putting on airs again, but doesn’t pull away. His arms loop around Remus’ waist, one hand holding the other wrist against the small of his back.

Remus presses his cheek to his head, breathing in his shampoo and sweat and the slight dog smell he can never get rid of. He whispers, “Okay.”

“I—you’ve gotta know, Moony. I’ve wanted to be your husband for…ever. Since I found out it could maybe come true some day. Me not wanting to marry you isn’t the issue here.”

“But there is an issue.”

“Well, yeah. I don’t know about you, but I don’t know anyone who would officiate, and even if we did find someone, it wouldn’t be legal, would it?”

“They’re trying to get it legalized with the Ministry,” he reminds, though a stab of something—guilt and false hope and a familiar, numb anger—hits him as he says it. The chances of it actually happening… Lily didn’t seem optimistic, the last time they talked.

Sirius scoffs. “You know how that’s going to go.”

There’s no use denying it. Still… “Yeah, but there’s always a chance. Lily’s on the committee. That’s at least one person on our side.”

“That’s true…”

A few moments of quiet pass them by. They both seem to realize how cold it is in the room at the same time, so Remus grabs a throw blanket from the end of the bed to tuck around their shoulders. Sirius hums contentedly, and the sound of it shoots right through Remus. He can’t help but break the silence. “Pads.”

“Yeah?”

“If we could find someone to do a ceremony, would you want to do that? Whether it’s legal or not.”

“Of course I would. Finally get to see you in a proper suit, mmm.”

Remus grins, poking at him and getting his hands playfully slapped away for the trouble. “Who said I’d wear a suit?”

The look he gets is a wonderfully amusing mix of horror and disappointment, and if Sirius says anything, he doesn’t hear it over his laughter. By the time he’s calmed down, Sirius has them laying back down, curled up together like when they woke up. He wants to ask more questions—what kind of venue, what season, if he’s as committed to Harry being the ring bearer as Remus is—but they can wait. He ducks his head down, breathing in Sirius and their bed and the cold air, and lets himself bask in the realization that, sooner or later, they’ll be husbands.

**Author's Note:**

> [rebloggable version here!](https://dottie-wan-kenobi.tumblr.com/post/623766380035129344/wishing-and-hoping)
> 
> comments are very appreciated!! <3


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